


Down the Water Spout

by amorekay



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gen Fic, PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/pseuds/amorekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the war he liked showers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Water Spout

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble of one of those little moments when everything should be okay, but they're most definitely not. Warning for PTSD trigger/experience.

Before the war he liked showers. The water against his skin was a ritual cleansing of the day, sweat and fatigue and frustration falling off him in rivulets and disappearing down the drain. His muscles would relax, his head would clear, and sometimes he’d sing a little something while he washed his hair.

Today, Robert turns on the water and the rain is opening up and pouring down at him from all sides, pounding against his skull and making puddles around his toes. When he closes his eyes there’s a man standing next to him with a gun in his mouth.

And then he's sitting on the floor trying to inch his way out of the spray because suddenly it feels hot enough to burn his skin. A hand up to his throat and the vein underneath is pumping blood too fast, he tries to keep track of the count and blanks out after ten. “Shit,” he spits out, and there’s water in his mouth and burning his eyes and he gives up struggling. Just sits there, quiet, trying to keep his eyes open and his mouth closed and his boots from soaking through, but it’s no use, after the first day every inch of him is good and soaked and he can‘t scrub away the dew that grows fast like algae on his skin.

His feet are good and pruned and purple when he remembers to stand up, a rush of blood to his system and he realizes there’s bile in his mouth. He might’ve even pissed himself, and isn’t that too funny. He thinks of how the conversation with his mother would go: 'Hey, I know you like to keep the house neat, so maybe you should disinfect the shower. Your baby boy just pissed himself again. I did that a lot, you know. Slept in my own piss every night in the rain.’ She’d have that horrified little look on her face and she’d say Robert like she was trying to get a dog to stop dripping mud on the rug.

By now the water is cold. When Robert steps out to grab his towel, he notices all the veins in his hands are straining against his skin, trying to break free. A shock of blue against white, but all of his fingernails are trimmed down neat and his knuckles unbroken and flushed.

When he shivers, he can pretend it’s from the cold air.


End file.
